


The Back Was Made to Bear the Cross

by FroldGapp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Dragon AU, Dragons, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Galaxy Garrison, Humor, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Whump, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, SHEITH - Freeform, Shiro Week 2017, black lion - Freeform, like discount smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/pseuds/FroldGapp
Summary: A few short fics from the Black Paladin Week.Oopsie Daisy - Keith gets stuck. Shiro helps get him off.A Good Heart - The black bayard is only as good as the heart that wields it.Champion – Shiro's success condemns him to isolation.Drop – Choices don't come easy.Sundays – Sundays are for relaxing and bothering your boyfriend.The Wyvern's Head – Dragon AU





	1. Oopsie Daisy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radiofreekerberos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiofreekerberos/gifts).



> https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops this happened! Day 2 @blackpaladinweek: Original = Pre Kerberos = the closest to smut I’ll probably ever get.

 

‘God-fucking-damnit!’ Keith wailed. Shiro promptly retrieved his heart from his throat. A yelling-Keith was generally understood to be a healthy-Keith.

‘You okay?’ he asked, doing a terrible job at feigning concern now he knew, by Keith’s impressive flailing, that hurt pride and busted jeans were the only victims of the absurd spectacle in front of him.

‘Do I fucking look okay?!’

Shiro laughed behind his hand.

'What,' Keith's saw-edge voice asked, 'are you laughing at?'

With a shake of his head, Shiro ambled towards Keith who was dangling by a belt loop on a wrought iron fence spike. He'd attempted a volley straight over the Garrison fence, spotted Iverson's jeep at the last second, and hesitated with a sound that was somewhere between a dog-whistle and a car backfiring. Keith _never_ hesitated and now Shiro knew why. It was a disaster. _Devil thought, do not tempt this boy from instinct._ Keith had seemed to pause mid-air before hammering down on the fence, missing impalement by a hair's breadth. Now, his long legs hung helplessly like a pair of knee high socks left forgotten on a clothesline. His jeans were hiked up to his armpits, his jacket around his ears.

Shiro opened his mouth to assure, but another bout of laughter spouted free instead. 'I'm so sorry,' he said seriously, seconds before squealing into his fist, doubling over at the waist.

'Shiro!' Keith yelled, iron fence rocking in its foundations with his fury. 'Get me down!' He eyed the still-crumpling Shiro with burning eyes before shaking himself uselessly, rattling the fence again. 'Shiro!' he whined, slumping where he hung. He threw his hands to his face. 'This is so humiliating.'

Shiro wiped a tear from his eye. 'Oh, come on, Keith. Look at it this way,' he said, but barely, given he was still crying with laughter. 'Could be much worse.' Shiro raised his left hand and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. He then poked the forefinger of his right hand through it and had the audacity to _wink_. 'Much worse.'

'You're so crass.' Keith huffed. 'Besides, I've got a wedgie so bad I doubt anything is going into or coming out of my ass ever again.'

One wink already spent, Shiro could only offer an up-ended smile and shrug at that comment. Keith responded by offering him the middle finger in turn.

'I bet this stuff never happens to you,' he groused. His neck was blotched red with embarrassment.

'I didn't think it happened to you either. You practically float through the obstacle course. Who knew you could be so spectacularly clumsy.'

Keith scowled. 'Yeah, well I'm not floating now. And I’m not clumsy! Iverson appeared out of nowhere! He already busted me for that trash-can, borrowed tyres thing.'

Shiro grinned up at Keith who, red faced and miserable, had taken to humping his heels off the bars, arms folded. How could someone hoisted in such a preposterous position still try to maintain any sense of aloofness. It sort of worked, Shiro mused. Sort of.

'Okay,' Shiro said. 'Didn't mean to upset you. Guess I'll be going.' He spun on his heel and began wandering off.

An honest-to-God growl issued from Keith's throat. 'You're a jerk.' The pout was as apparent in Keith's voice as his desert-blown drawl. 'I hate you.'

Shiro stopped with his back to Keith, smiling. 'I suppose that means you'd prefer it if I didn't get you off then?'

‘Huh?’

‘I mean, if you’re so mad at me. I’m hardly the guy to get your off.’ A cough. ‘The fence that is.’

'I'm not going to ask you to _get me off_.’ Keith tutted. ‘Your jokes are garbage. Especially when they're blue.'

A shrug, a smile, a light, 'H'okay.' And Shiro was strolling off again.

'Ugh,' Keith rumbled like an engine. 'Takashi Shirogane, if you would be so kind as to get me off.'

‘Much obliged,’ Shiro said buoyantly. He trotted back and wrapped both arms around Keith's calves, hefting him up until he felt a little give in the back of the trousers. Keith braced himself with white-knuckled hands on his shoulders.

‘Ally-oop!’ Shiro said, giving a mock try.

Keith had started laughing despite himself. 'You ass weasel,' he accused.

With one firm hoist, Shiro finally lifted Keith free. 'For one ass only,’ he replied, patting Keith’s rump. Keith punched Shiro's shoulder lightly and flopped over his back, resigned to being carried the short distance back to the dorms.

'I'm going to tell the whole school that their Golden Boy is a rotten horn-dog.'

Shiro hummed. 'Nobody'd believe a guy who got stuck on a four foot fence.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at froldgapp.tumblr.com


	2. A Good Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The black bayard is only as good as the heart that wields it.

The Black Bayard lay impossibly heavy in Shiro’s hands. The white finish gleamed, the power within sang, but Shiro felt empty as a husk.

‘This bayard,’ he said, running his flesh thumb over the smooth surface. ‘It killed the original Red Paladin. Your father.’

Allura pressed her lips together a moment. ‘No,’ she said, but not unkindly. ‘Zarkon ran him through. The bayard is only as good or as bad as the person who wields it.’

Shiro accepted her words with a nod, but his eyes were damp and bitter. His voice cracked when he asked, ‘And the Black Lion?’

With effort, Allura managed not to recoil at the venom levelled at Voltron’s proud head. ‘Is innocent.’ She reached forward and closed her long fingers over Shiro’s, touched the thrumming power of the bayard beneath. ‘Shiro, you must understand. Yes, the lions are the most powerful entities in the known universe, but even they have vulnerabilities. They require guidance and care. Love, you could say. A hateful heart can do terrible things, no matter how pure the tool.’

‘It was my heart, Allura. My hand.’ Shiro said, the first tear spilling free. ‘And the Black Lion – the lion _he_ piloted – stood by and watched.’

Allura edged closer and pulled Shiro towards her until their knees were touching. She pressed the palm of her right hand to his chest plate, still streaked copper with blood. ‘It wasn’t you, but a shadow of you, Shiro. You are a good man, and the true leader of Voltron; a defender of the universe. The Black Lion’s love for you blinded her, and…’ She trailed off as the truth became apparent even as she spoke. She sighed, feeling old and cold and like she was born into this universe to tell hard truths. ‘And yes, she abandoned Keith for a you that wasn’t you. She cannot be blamed for the Galra’s machinations. They are wily, cruel and multitude, and she is only one creature. We are all imperfect.’

Shiro nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Some of us get closer than others though.’ He released the bayard into Allura’s open left hand and stood, leaving the room, Allura, and Keith’s still body– all embalmed in glowing, perfect blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at https://froldgapp.tumblr.com


	3. Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's success condemns him to isolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get at me! https://froldgapp.tumblr.com
> 
> For Black Paladin Week on tumblr.

The cell stank. The shivering bodies beside him stank. He stank.

‘Hello?!’ he cried, rising up on his knees to better see through the bars.

‘No point,’ moaned the long, pucker-skinned alien to his right, its mouth filled with sores. ‘No point.’

‘Hel–’

‘Hey!’ Everyone in the cell jumped as a guard struck the heavy door outside. ‘Quieten down in there, you lot!’

Shiro swallowed and wetted his lips. He was panting heavily, couldn’t stop, couldn’t draw breath.  
‘Where’s my crew?!’ he demanded, agonised. ‘Where’s my crew?!’

The door shunted open and an enormous guard stormed in, striking Shiro once across the temple and straight into black oblivion. 

OoO

The crowd was deafening. Bleachers staggered up, up, up into the sky. A faceless mass lit from massive floodlights chanted, hooted and clapped with terrifying uniformity. The sand beneath Shiro’s feet was dark with blood.  
In front of him, his six-legged opponent scrambled urgently to grab the eye Shiro had dislodged with one solid blow. Blood hissed from deep body wounds and hung in the air, a red mist. The match was over, but not over. Not until Shiro delivered the killing blow.

‘My eye!’ the alien gurgled.

‘Champion!’ a rich voice boomed across the arena. ‘Take the head and claim your victory!’

‘Take the head and claim your victory!’ the crowd echoed.

Shiro’s entire body sang with adrenalin. His right arm charged with a high-pitched hum and the air split around it.  
‘Mercy!’ the creature cried. ‘Mercy! I have a s–’

The head hit the ground, undramatic as a child dropping a toy they were no longer interested in. There was no more blood. The neck had been seared closed.

Shiro pulled in a breath and thumped his chest. ‘Vrepit sa!’ he bellowed.  
The crowd answered, ‘Vrepit sa! Vrepit sa!’  
OoO

Nobody spoke to the champion.

Nobody ate with, exercised with, or otherwise dealt with the champion. He boarded alone now. When he spoke, it was in little above a chalky scratching. Names began to fade, faces too. Places became shadows became nothing at all. What was that town... the one where they had holidayed in his youth? His uncle’s passing, what had that been? When had that been? He remembered his father crying, one knuckle clenched between his teeth as he listened to the news. Then, horribly: what was his uncle’s name?  
‘Do not concern yourself with your opponents.’

Shiro shook himself and followed the tinkering at his arm with slow-blinking eyes.

‘They are nothing but fodder for your fury,’ said the witch.

‘Yes,’ said Shiro.

Her hands ran the length of his right arm from fingers to shoulder. She moved behind him and followed his neck up to his jaw, holding his head between both hands.

‘The universe has delivered you to us,’ she said. ‘Champion.’

‘Champion.’

‘Vrepit sa,’ she whispered.

Shiro swallowed and closed his eyes. ‘Vrepit sa.’


	4. Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choices don't come easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://froldgapp.tumblr..com

‘Paladin,’ said the shadowy priest before him. ‘You must choose, or both lives are forfeit. The Prodigium _will_ have its prize. The quintessence of a paladin of Voltron will sustain our planet for Deca-Phoebs to come.’

In front of him, Pidge and Keith hung by their feet over a broad and smoking pit. Both were beaten and bloodied, Pidge unconscious and with half her uniform torn free, and Keith with his right arm dangling at a horrible angle. He bled freely from his nose and mouth. His hair was stiff with it.

‘Shiro,’ he said, weakly. Desperately.

Shiro pulled at the iron-cast arms holding him in place. They were utterly surrounded: comms dead, Hunk and Lance light years away with Olio and Matt, and the castle ship in the cold atmosphere far above them. The black bayard burned against Shiro’s thigh, but with his hands restrained he was powerless to do anything.

The room shook as the planet gave a great, shuddering sigh. The amassed guards screamed in terror, throwing their arms towards their leader, beseeching him: solve this, make the sacrifice. They’d wanted all three paladins thrown to the Prodigium, a gargantuan beast upon whom the Prodigiers had built their society. But Shiro, ever diplomatic, had bargained: his life so the others could go free. But the priest had denied him. He was “impure”. His arm would not please the beast. Better the flesh and bones of his comrades.

The planet-beast howled and a great cloud of mist rose up from the hole. Keith screamed, his skin scorching red. Pidge stirred where she hung.

‘Choose!’ cried the priest. ‘Or I will cut them both free!’

‘No…’ Shiro’s eyes darted between them both. It was impossible. _Impossible._ Arms restrained, comms down, comrades broken, strung up like dead calves. ‘No…’

‘Shiro…’ Pidge called, her voice fluttering with terrified confusion. ‘Keith?’

Again, the room rumbled violently. Debris shook loose and fell on the shoulders and heads of the priest’s guards.

‘Choose!’ roared the priest.

‘Shiro?’ Keith was reaching with his good arm, his torso bending to bring him just one inch closer to Shiro. His eyes shone like opal, bore into the back of Shiro’s skull. _Please_ , they said. _Please._

Pidge was struggling now, whimpering with horror and helplessness. ‘Keith? Shiro? Keith? _Keith_?’

‘Paladin!’ the priest was livid. Spit flew from his mouth. ‘You will choose now or I will cast them both into the flames of eternity!’

‘Shiro!’ Keith called. His left hand shook, straining for Shiro. His eyes said _please, please, please, please._ But he couldn’t help him. He couldn’t– 

‘I’m sorry!’

‘Keith?’

A sound tore itself from Keith’s throat, and in the same moment came a sudden weightlessness at Shiro’s thigh. A bolt of purple lightning shot across the room: the black bayard. It flashed in Keith’s left hand.

‘No!’ cried Shiro. 

But the blade was swift and true.


	5. Sundays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sundays are for relaxing and bothering your boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get at me froldgapp.tumblr.com

It started with eggs.

‘Shiro?’ Keith called from within the kitchen. Shiro looked up from his tablet, blinking the after-image from his eyes. It was Sunday; glorious, sunny Sunday with no work, no work _out_ , and the long-standing ritual of Keith cooking breakfast. Keith was an excellent cook. And fiercely particular.

‘Shiro!’

‘Uh-huh? Shiro answered, peeling himself from the couch with a groan. He padded into the kitchen to see Keith stood in front of the fridge in his boxers and a raggedy Stiff Little Fingers t-shirt, carton of eggs in hand. His fringe was stiff with flour and his arms were dusted with it up to the elbow.

‘Eggs don’t live in the refrigerator, Shiro.’

Shiro pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. He nodded at the open fridge door. ‘You might want to close the–’

‘They live in the pantry,’ Keith said, and gestured to said pantry: a rescued filing cabinet he’d refitted with the backs of broken chairs. He flipped the door closed with his shoulder. ‘You’re a scientist. You should know better.’

‘A data scientist.’ Shiro followed him over to the countertop where smoked salmon, soft cheese and capers were already rolled into tidy little parcels. Coffee was still steaming in the pot, and the smell of baking bread filled the room. A large mixing bowl stood waiting for eggs, presumably for pancakes. Keith plucked one from the carton and warmed it between his hands.

‘Here,’ Shiro chuckled, taking the egg from him. ‘Your hands are freezing. May as well put them back in the fridge.’

Keith tutted and picked up a second egg. Shiro booped him on the nose, then again, when Keith reeled away like a fussy cat. Shiro tossed the egg in the air and with his left hand snatched up one of the salmon rolls. He popped it in his mouth and caught the egg with the same hand.

‘Show-off,’ murmured Keith.

‘Iffgut!’ Shiro exclaimed through a mouthful.

‘Out!’ Keith ordered, but there was a laugh buried in his eyes and in the fond tilt of his head.

Shiro swallowed. ‘Who knew some punk who doesn’t wash his jeans for six months at a time could be so refined.’

‘I won’t be insulted by a man in cargo shorts.’ Keith stepped sideways to guard the salmon rolls. ‘And it’s Japanese denim. You’re not supposed to–  _hey!’_

Shiro pressed a kiss to Keith’s forehead and in the same moment reached behind him to collect two more rolls. 

Keith dropped the egg to the counter, and snatched Shiro’s, depositing it also. ‘You’re fowl!’ he pouted, pushing Shiro away and leaving floury hand-marks like cave paintings on the front of his black vest.

Shiro grinned and popped a roll into his mouth. ‘You love me.’

‘Not when you sabotage my eggs and leave my iron skillet soaking in the sink every time you make attempts to cook.’ Keith began manoeuvring Shiro from the room.

Shiro slid the second roll into his mouth and held his hands up in surrender. He spun in place and planted a second kiss on Keith’s forehead. ‘Love you, baby.’

‘Out!’ 

‘So good!’ Shiro called, pointing to the decimated salmon in his mouth. ‘You’re pretty decent!’ He tugged open the fridge door on his way past and scampered back to the couch at Keith’s bothered screech.

OoO

‘You’re so bloated,’ Shiro said, patting Keith’s distended tummy.

Keith hummed and performed a spine-cracking stretch against Shiro’s side. ‘Worth it.’

They lay together on the couch at horrible angles, but double-chins be damned, it was the best part of a Sunday. Keith’s red-socked feet dangled over the edge of the couch. His hair – still unwashed, still sticky with flour and egg – had been stuffed under a black beanie that had seen much, much better days. He was, God-save-Shiro, adorable.

‘What do you want to watch?’ Shiro asked, curling an errant strand of Keith’s hair around one finger.

‘Not transformers or some garbage with robots.’ He twisted in Shiro’s hold, poking him with unforgivingly sharp elbows. _Ow,_  Shiro mouthed. Keith looked at him with clear, bright eyes. ‘Cosmos?’

Shiro groaned. ‘Keith... again?’

Keith blinked at him, unrelenting.

‘Cosmos. You got it, babe.’

Keith smiled and settled himself against Shiro’s side again. ‘Thanks,’ he said, pulling Shiro’s arm across him.


	6. The Wyvern's Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gift fic for @radiofreekerberos who is a wonderful writer :)
> 
> get at me: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Shiro stepped in from the corridor, thick towel wrapped around his waist and body steaming from the inn’s surprisingly lush salt spa. The abundant room and services were a gift to the ‘most courageous and splendorous paladin’, the keepers had assured him, for saving their livestock from a small dragon that had been plaguing their farm for the past couple of days. They did not know that the very same dragon now lounged in front of the room’s roaring fire, belly up and legs to the air. Nor did they know that both Shiro and the dragon had dined on their chickens and a calf over mead siphoned from their barrels in the dead of night. Needs must, Shiro reasoned. They had enough to spare, and well, when people hung dragon heads on their tavern walls, Shiro tended to forget a scruple or two.

He tugged his shirt from a chair by the door and towelled off his hair roughly. That done, he tossed the shirt on the bed together with the towel. The dragon’s eyes popped open and he launched himself at the wet fabric with a squawk. He snatched both the towel and the shirt up in his mouth, eyeing Shiro unhappily. He hopped down from the bed and trotted towards the fire, complaining in short, bothered grunts. He began attempting to lay the clothes out to try with questionable success. No thumbs and all that.

Shiro rolled his eyes and bent to help the creature. ‘Here,’ he said, unrolling the towel and pulling it up and over the grill. The creature snorted and fussed at his work, small teeth nipping and long feathered whiskers wafting from the heat of the fire.

‘I’m not going to die of a cold,’ said Shiro, stepping out of the way as the dragon shot past him and began tugging a blanket from the bed. It’s whip-thin tail – twice the length of its body – swung with the effort, curling and uncurling around Shiro’s bare legs. Again, the man sighed and saved the dragon the effort by retrieving the the blanket and pulling it around himself. That done, the dragon measured him with red, slitted eyes, snorted its approval sharply, and started butting Shiro towards the fire. Its minuscule horns made dents in his thighs.

‘Okay, okay,’ Shiro said, and lay himself down in front of the fire. He yawned deeply, drawing his arms under his head. ‘You fuss too much,’ he said.

The dragon’s only answer was another disapproving grunt. It circled the floor, shaking its spindles and the delicate spines that halved it from nape to tail. They glowed purple over blue over green over pink and sang like fine bells. The scent of ozone filled the room: magic. The lamps dimmed and went out, while the fire shrank to a comfortable glow.

‘Thank you,’ said Shiro. ‘Couldn’t save me from a cold and let me die in an inferno.’

The dragon blinked at him, utterly unimpressed.

‘Sorry,’ Shiro muttered and turned over.

The dragon sighed – an all too human sound – and lay itself down the length of Shiro’s body. Magic still thrummed over its warm scales and lightly feathered fringing, and when it nuzzled its blunt, doggish muzzle against Shiro’s neck, the curse burned like an iron.

OoO

‘That isn’t good for you.’ Shiro had no sooner heard Keith’s voice behind him than his tankard was plucked from his hand and replaced with a steaming cup of tea.

The other paladin slipped around the table gracefully and dropped himself into the chair opposite Shiro.

Shiro raised his witch-woven right arm and gestured at the broad scar across his nose. ‘We’re fighting a war. I’m hardly going to die from a drinking problem, Keith.’

‘Not funny,’ said Keith.

‘Wasn’t meant to be,’ returned Shiro. ‘Hey!’ Keith had picked up his ale and was inhaling it in throat-splitting, noisy gulps. His violet eyes were glued stubbornly to the wall behind Shiro’s head. When he finished, he slammed the tankard to the table and wiped the foam from his mouth with his sleeve.

It was becoming more of a problem. Ever since his change, the protective instincts Keith had naturally harboured were amplified by the mind of the beast. In the beginning, signs of struggle would show in the younger paladin’s expression as the dragon’s baser thoughts moved him, then hazy confusion, and now…

He picked at the edge of the table with his knife. ‘My job is to bring you to Allura safely. You’re too cavalier. It frightens me.’

Shiro reached across the table and lay the blade aside, then picked up Keith’s hands. He ran his thumbs over the long fingers, scarred and hard with callouses. The red paladin cared nothing for his own safety. It was how they got into this mess in the first place.

_Accept the curse and spare his life._

_I’ll do it._

Shiro closed his eyes against the memory and calmed himself with a breath. ‘And my job is to get you back to normal.’ Keith opened his mouth to protest, but Shiro leaned closer and continued. ‘And to do that we need Allura. So I don’t plan to die en route, but I do plan on drinking every free beer and eating every free dinner I can get along the way. I didn’t have a decent meal for two years, Keith. I need to _live_.’

Keith’s eyes flashed guiltily. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to deny you. I’m sorry, I–’

A bell sounded at the bar and the other patrons groaned and shouted their displeasure. The pair broke hands and turned to see what the ruckus was. The burly landlord was clambering onto a chair.

‘Quieten down! Quieten down! As proud owner of–’

‘Co-owner!’ shouted the woman behind the bar.

‘As proud _co_ -owner of the Wyvern’s Head, it is my esteemed pleasure and absolute joy to introduce the finest, bravest, most splendid personage of the Galra kingdom…’

‘Get on with it, Terrance!’

‘Introducing, Sendak,’ blustered Terrance. ‘The royal dragon slayer!’

The room exploded into excited shouts and chants.

‘Ah, fuck,’ muttered Keith.

‘I really could have done with that beer, babe,’ said Shiro, reaching for his sword.


End file.
